


what foolish healers do

by lunariaans



Series: reds, greens, and blues [2]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-29
Updated: 2019-01-29
Packaged: 2019-10-18 13:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17581448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunariaans/pseuds/lunariaans
Summary: It’s raining the day Lukas dies.





	what foolish healers do

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i guess we just killin them off now [that shit hurted emoji]

It’s raining the day Lukas dies.   
  
Silque thinks it’s some kind of cruel joke. For years, Zofia has been in drought. But now, the skies open up. And all they do is pour.   
  
Pour and pour. The rain makes the dirt of the battlefield wet and muddy, her boots getting stuck as she tries running for him. It feels like a dream where she runs and runs, and doesn’t move at all. But this is no dream; this is cruel reality.   
  
She cries out his name. He doesn’t listen.   
  
There’s a mage standing there, and Silque feels the familiar prick of magic in the air before he even opens his tome. Lukas stands there, lance ready. Silque calls out to him again, but he doesn’t answer.   
  
The mud is too thick. She slips and she stumbles. The mage raises a hand and the air smells of ozone. Lukas stands tall, just like he always has.   
  
There’s the crackle and boom of lightning and thunder, and Silque can’t tell if it’s come from the mage or the sky. She opens her eyes only to realize that she had stop running to cover her ears, and there she sees Lukas, crumpled up on the ground, the mage nowhere in sight.   
  
_“Lukas!”_ she yells, but there is no response.   
  
The mud holds her back. She keeps running.   
  
_A dream, a bad dream_ , she denies, _it’s all just a bad dream_. The kind where it’s impossible to run.   
  
The lump is already well formed in her throat. She’s choking on it, drowning in it. Her face is wet, but it could just be the rain.   
  
When she finally reaches his body, she throws herself forward to the ground, reaching to grasp his neck. The words of healing are already tumbling out, but her strangled sobs make her voice sound warbled.   
  
“Silque,” he says, and she shakes her head, pushing through the spell. She knows what is coming next.   
  
“That’s enough now.” His voice sounds dry and raspy, almost metallic. “You’re wasting—“  
  
“Stop it, Lukas!” she cries, and Lukas stops. If only for the moment.   
  
She’s gone through the same spell twice already, but Lukas grows paler by the minute. His hair is wet from the rain, it’s hard to keep her hands on his skin. It’s hard to keep repeating words that won’t work right.   
  
_“Enough,”_ he grinds out, reaching up to grasp at one of her hands. His fingers are cold.   
  
Silque doesn’t think it’s enough. She _knows_ it is not enough. She wants to push his hand away and keep trying, but his fingers are strong and firm. They will not be for long.   
  
The magic is already tearing at his insides, burning up his muscles and his bones. Lukas coughs once and she sees blood come out.   
  
She blinks back tears. It couldn’t be happening again.   
  
“My kids,” he says, and she winces at the thought of the Ram villagers. “Take good care of them.”  
  
She shakes her head, rips her hands from his neck to grasp at his face.   
  
“Please don’t,” she whispers, eyes wide. “Please don’t do this.”  
  
Her throat burns worse than hell. Lukas chuckles. For once, she hates the sound.   
  
“Python...” he lets out in a breath, chest falling much too slow. “Him too. He...”  
  
He sighs, closes his eyes. Silque feels the panic rise up. The rain falls harder, the sound of swords clanging grows dull.   
  
“Thank you,” he sighs again, but this time, his chest never rises.   
  
  
  
  
Silque stumbles aimlessly through the mud. The rain doesn’t let up, sobs still shake loose from her lips. Her shoulders shake but it’s not from the cold.   
  
“Hey!” a rough voice barks out, and she is filled with unbelievable dread at the familiarity of it.   
  
She is tired of telling Python that someone has died. One time was too many.   
  
“What the hell are you doing?”  
  
Her shoulders tense as she hears his boots move through the mud. _He’s going to find out._   
  
“Hey, I’m talking to you.”  
  
The battle has been over for some time. They’re only looking for survivors now. Silque knows they will only find limp bodies.   
  
_“Hey—“_  
  
She whirls around to face him—but she cannot _look_ at his face.   
  
He takes a bewildered step back. She wonders what she looks like; Lukas had died of magic. There was not much blood.   
  
“What happened?” he asks then, and she lets out a sob. It hurts her throat. Her eyes sting. Python doesn’t react— _how does he know?_  
  
“Lukas is _dead,”_ she blurts out, and the words sting her tongue. She covers her eyes with wet hands, wet sleeves, but the rain cannot hide tears now. Python knows now.   
  
She hears him make a strangled noise, hears the wooden bow in his hand creak as he clenches his fist. Lukas is dead, and Python knows it is her fault.   
  
“Where is he?” Python grinds out, and Silque has to bite her tongue to keep from crying harder. “Show me where he is.”  
  
“Python—“ her shaking voice comes out, but Python looks angry.   
  
“Just show me where he is.”  
  
She turns to scan the battlefield. Through the rain, it is hard to see. Lukas wasn’t the only one who had died.   
  
But she starts walking, in any given direction. Her feet know where to go, her heart remembers where he is. And when she finds him once again, there are already people there.   
  
The village kids. Alm. Clive, Mathilda, Clair. They’re there, and they know now.   
  
Python pushes past her, steps up next to Clive, and Silque has to watch as grief confirms his fears. His face twitches, his jaw clenches. She has to watch as he finds another dead friend.   
  
“Magic,” Clive says, and his voice is heavy, weighted. He sounds like he’s speaking for the first time in months.   
  
There’s a thick silence, rain pelting the earth is the only noise that carries. Silque grips at her hair, bites down hard into her tongue. She can’t cry here, show the others that she is guilty. Yet something tells her that they already know.   
  
But Alm cries. He breaks right there in front of everyone. First it is a broken sob, then it is a hard cry. Alm cries first, and it sets in that Lukas is gone.   
  
Clive turns and notices her. She freezes up again, bites down on her tongue hard enough to draw blood. She winces.   
  
Clive’s face is unreadable. She can’t tell if it’s pity or disgust that he feels when he looks at her. She’s not sure which she prefers.   
  
“Python, Clair,” he says without taking his eyes off her. “Rally up the rest of the survivors and meet back at camp.”  
  
It takes a long moment before either of them move, before either of them can rip their eyes away from Lukas’s dead body. Silque cannot look at them as they leave.   
  
Clive approaches her, and grabs her by the arm, gentle but firm. She holds down the sob that threatens to explode.   
  
“Sister Silque,” he says lowly, quietly. He leads her to his horse. He helps her up. She feels dazed. “You will have much more work to do.”  
  
He’s taking her back to camp, she knows, but she doesn’t want to leave. Lukas will get left behind. Just like all the other bodies. Just like Forsyth was.   
  
Sir Clive’s armor is cold and hard and Silque wonders if he will cry too, in the privacy of his own tent, in the comfort of Lady Mathilda’s arms. Silque cries in the rain and steels herself for the others that might not make it.   
  
  
  
  
Faye’s hands are warm against her cheeks. Silque can barely feel them.   
  
“It’s not your fault,” Faye says, but her own voice sounds stilted and forced.   
  
Silque doesn’t say anything. She can’t even look at Faye; she stares right past her and at the floor of their tent.   
  
“It’ll be okay,” Faye continues, but it sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. “There was nothing—“  
  
“Are you hurt?” Silque asks, and Faye balks, drops her hands from her face.   
  
_“I’m_ fine,” she replies. “But _you’re_ not.”  
  
Silque lets out a shaking breath. Faye frowns.   
  
“Lukas, he said—“  
  
Faye winces. Silque wants to cry.   
  
“What did he say?”   
  
_That he misses you,_ Silque wants to say, _that he’s worried about you all._   
  
She shakes her head. “I can’t remember.”  
  
But she closes her eyes and all she can do is remember. The rain, the way it made his skin slick like blood would. The way his neck bruised beneath her gentle grasp because of the magic.   
  
Silque hears Faye stand. She’s crying, Silque knows, but she isn’t sure how to help when she cannot even stop it herself.   
  
“Sir Clive says you need to start eating,” she says, her voice cracking. “If you don’t, he’s gonna send Python.”  
  
Before she can even reply, Faye turns on her heel and leaves their tent, and Silque can’t help but think that it should be Lukas worrying about such things.   
  
  


  
There’s another healer that they find along the way.   
  
Silque thinks it’s ironic that she’s found in Rigel, a place she had left behind a long time ago. But no one knows that. No one will.  
  
Tatiana is beautiful and kind and just so full of life. The sigh of relief everyone seems to breathe when they find her does not make Silque feel better though. She thinks, _does no one trust me?_ _Are they scared I will let them end up like Lukas or Forsyth?_  
  
“Everyone speaks so highly of you,” Tatiana tells her though. “You poor thing. Your workload must be intense.”  
  
And Silque despises the words, thinks that they are false, some made up lie. But she gives her a tight smile. Says that they’re only exaggerating.   
  
Tatiana shakes her head, that pretty long hair swishing with her.   
  
“Oh, come on. Give yourself a little credit.”  
  
And she thinks, _they only want you because they do not trust me anymore._ It scares her. The thought makes her feel ugly. That was no way to accept help when it was so desperately needed.   
  
“Without you, I’m sure half of the army wouldn’t even be here!”  
  
At this, Silque cracks. It is quick, almost silent. She quickly turns away and tries to hold down the lump in her throat, but Tatiana notices.   
  
She doesn’t say anything, just quickly skips over it and starts talking about some general here in Rigel. Silque doesn’t know what it means, she can’t hear what’s being said.   
  
She wonders how Tatiana handles death. In Rigel, it was much more prevalent than on some quiet island priory in the middle of nowhere. Perhaps Tatiana is unfazed by it. Silque wishes she was.

 

 

Python won’t look at her when she heals him.

He looks anywhere but her. At the ground, the walls of the tent. It drives her mad, makes her bones ache and her heart hurt.

When she tries speaking to him, he only gives one word answers. _Yes, no,_ the occasional _I don't know._ She doesn’t know how to ease the pain. How could she when her magic could not even do it? When she cannot even do it for herself?

And the times when he is forced to talk to her, the times he is sent by Sir Clive to make sure she is still surviving, he keeps it brief. Pretends she exists for only a short moment before disappearing once again. He had been the last to show up when they had buried Lukas, and the first one to leave. Without Lukas or Forsyth around, he spends most of his time in his tent by himself, sleeping.

Silque finds it hard to sleep when memories come back as dreams, moments come back as nightmares. One night it is Lukas and his chest that never rises, and the next it is Forsyth’s lifeless stare, his blood caked into the lines of her hands, the taste stuck between her teeth.

Sometimes it is Python, his disgusted expression there as she fails to save him too.

“Never learn, do you?” he says, and she awakens with cold hands and cold feet, warmth a distant feeling.

Silque finds herself in his tent. He’s confused when she wakes him up, worried almost. But the look fades into annoyance all too quickly.

She drops to her knees next to his bedroll. Her mind is swimming; she’s not supposed to be here.

“What’re you—”

“I miss them,” she says flatly, and it does not sound like her voice that comes from her lips. “Don’t you?”

He recoils at the question. That disgusted look shows up, and Silque hates that it is the only look she knows on him.

“What’s going on?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing. Perhaps he thinks he is still asleep. “Did something happen?”

She shakes her head.

“Where’s Faye?”

“In our tent.”

“And why aren't you there?”

She feels the air get caught in her throat. Python’s annoyance looks more like confusion now.

When she doesn’t answer, he sighs, rubs at his eyes with rough fingers. He pulls the blanket off himself and makes to stand.

“Come on. I’ll take you back.”

But she grabs his hand, tugs him back down. His eyes grow wide, and it would have been such an amusing sight had she not wanted to cry.

“I miss them,” she repeats.

“I heard you the first time.”

He doesn’t look at her. He never does.

The overwhelming grief she feels build up begins to hurt. She feels like she will burst. So she throws herself forward, her arms around him. The deep breath she takes sounds like a sob, but she tries her best to hold it back.

She feels him stiffen up, his hands reach up to push her away—but he doesn’t.

In truth, Silque just wants to feel his heart, hear it beating against his ribcage, letting her know that he is still alive. She thinks he knows this.

She swallows the lump in her throat. A few tears still come. There’s the feeling of arms snaking their way around her, a gentle weight against her head.

She can hear it beating—thump, thump, thump—and she hopes that the sound never leaves her ears.  
  
  
  
Lukas was always the one that never seemed bothered by his injuries.   
  
With others, there was always a few tears here and there, a long string of curses, the held back whimpers of pain.   
  
Lukas hardly ever made noise, almost always had an apologetic look on his face when he came to her. Like he was inconveniencing _her._   
  
“You know, Sir Lukas,” she had started one day. “I think you just may be my best patient.”   
  
“Oh?” He had raised a brow. “What makes you say that?”   
  
“Well, you’re the best behaved by far.”   
  
Lukas had chuckled at that, soft and light.   
  
“You certainly are no Python, who only ever curses while he is in here.”   
  
He chuckles again, hardly even winces when she pulls the loose arrowhead out of his arm.   
  
“You’re pain tolerance must be high,” she continues, but Lukas only shrugs, like it is no big thing.   
  
Silque watches him close his eyes once she starts her spell of healing. There’s a warm and steady glow that comes from her hands as it rips the wound away from his skin, the pain from his body.   
  
Her arm tenses up and she winces once the magic and the pain makes its way back to her and she truly wonders how he was able to tolerate it.   
  
“You push yourself too hard, Silque.”   
  
Her head snaps back up to look at him.   
  
“Huh?”   
  
“The closer we get to Rigel, the more work you will have,” he says, rolling the sleeve of his tunic back down, picking up the loose arrowhead to examine it. “I see the faces you make when you heal the others.”   
  
She feels her face heat up; she lets out a nervous laugh.   
  
“The pain cannot be helped, Sir Lukas. That is just how magic works.”   
  
Lukas stands. Pockets the arrowhead—Silque thinks he will bring it to Python.   
  
“Either way, make sure you eat. And rest.” He turns to exit and leave her behind. “We would not be here if it weren’t for you.”   
  
“The villagers are right in calling you _‘Dad’,”_ she blurts out. She watches as Lukas stops, stiffens up. She stands as well. “You act like a father would, I imagine.”   
  
He had chuckled once more. The sound was sweet and pleasant. Silque misses the sound.  
  


  
Silque finds herself standing at the bank of a river. It’s small, secluded. The water runs over the rocks in a very familiar kind of way, the breeze blows through the trees gently.   
  
She stares down at the water, the current trying to drag her reflection away. She wonders, _since when has breathing become so difficult?_   
  
“Don’t bother.”  
  
She jumps at the sound of the voice. No one was supposed to know she had come out here.   
  
But it’s Python standing there, a look of disgust on his face.   
  
She drops her gaze to the forest floor.   
  
“I don’t know what you mean.”  
  
“Sure you do,” he says, unamused. “Bet you’re wondering how cold the water is. If it’s gonna sting.”  
  
She shakes her head. No, no, that wasn’t it.   
  
“I would never—“  
  
“Just don’t bother,” he interrupts. “You do anything stupid, and it starts all over again. The crying, the moping. It’ll never end.”  
  
A tiny breath escapes her lips, and it feels like a sigh of relief. The river flows, over the rocks, through the trees. She _does_ wonder if it is cold.   
  
“How did you know I was here?”  
  
“I followed you. Lukas never liked you wandering around by yourself.”  
  
Python stares her down. She wants to say, _you don’t scare me,_ but she knows that’s only a lie.  
  
“Well, Lukas is gone,” she says, but her voice already sounds hoarse. It cracks against his name. Everyone knows.   
  
Python steps towards her, his footsteps cover the sound of the river. _It must be cold,_ she thinks, _it’ll feel so cold._  
  
“Do you believe I killed them?” she blurts out, the lump rising back up to her throat—though she’s not sure it ever really left. She had only gotten better at hiding it.   
  
He sighs. Silque looks up to see him standing right there. For once, his expression is unreadable.   
  
“Would it make you feel better if I said yes?”  
  
“You hate me, don’t you? Because I couldn’t save them?”  
  
Python doesn’t answer. She doesn’t want him to.   
  
The river runs over the rocks. It pulls her reflection somewhere far away, maybe all the way out to sea.   
  
“I’m sorry,” she pushes out, teeth clenched. Her jaw hurts, her throat stings, her eyes burn. She wonders if her lungs would explode.   
  
“It won’t bring them back,” he says, and he sounds bitter, like he wishes it would.   
  
She feels heavy. Her heart, her eyelids, the weight on her shoulders. She feels like she is being crushed, pressed into the ground, buried alive.   
  
But then there is the feeling of his hand on her head as he pulls her against him. Her face hits his chest and she latches on so fast that she is afraid she might fall.   
  
Her fingers twist into the back of his shirt, she cries into his arms, but there is such an unearthly warmth there that she forgets about the river behind her, and how it pulls her reflection away.


End file.
